


BruisedBloodyBroken ~ Part 2 ~ Close Your Eyes

by BruisedBloodyBroken



Series: Bruised Bloody Broken - AU [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Hunter!Sam, Hurt!Sam, M/M, Sequel, Torture, Tortured!Sam, bruisedbloodybroken, hunter!dean, no!deathfic, possessed!abusive!bad!caring!cursed!dean, unrelated!wincest, unrelated!wincest(for now)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedBloodyBroken/pseuds/BruisedBloodyBroken
Summary: That's the prompt – demon!dean, hurt!sam, brutal!abusive!dean, angst, hurt/comfort, love, wincest ... the prompt-giver asked for a death-fic. THOUGH ... I can't do that. Sue me.Also the lines “Close your eyes, Sammy” and “I'm game” was requested … (Among a couple of others)... After colliding with a witch's plans, Sam wakes up in an abandoned warehouse, while Dean's still out cold.Neither of them could've known, that things will be spiralling downwards fast, when the curse takes it's toll on Dean Winchester and brings out the most darkest of his desires, he first developed during his time in hell ...
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Bruised Bloody Broken - AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145744
Comments: 20
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Supernatural Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Supernatural+Fandom).



> I will not be able to update it each day, like I did so far with the last story ...  
> I'll update at least once or twice a week though ...  
> So I've decided to start posting it anyway, since I'm already at it, to wrap things up and writing the final chapter ;) 
> 
> Please mind the tags & warnings ... You've been warned. This won't go easy on either of us.

**A/N:**

**That's the prompt – demon!dean, hurt!sam, brutal!abusive!dean, angst, hurt/comfort, love, wincest .**.. the prompt-giver asked for a death-fic. THOUGH ... I can't do that. Sue me.

**Also the lines “Close your eyes, Sammy” and “I'm game” was requested … (Among a couple of others)**

Can you guys even IMAGINE what a trip this one was? Trying to turn these lines into something meaningful? So, that it HAS TO hurt?

I could've said _nope_ to writing this … but it I saw it as what it was: a challenge …

* * *

* * *

So, Dean is going to be a real dick here. More than that even … He's kinda possessed (he's not really a demon … it might's more a demonic side of him risen from the dephts of his mind since his time in hell), and he's going to do REAL BAD things.

To not original characters and might as well to Sam.

This might be a pretty dark story … though with a happy ending (if you consider surviving as a happy ending).

**THIS CONTAINS A BUNCH OF TRIGGERS!!!**

if you are sensitive to abuse, graphic torture and all bad kinds of shit, don't read this. It's going to be probably the death of you …

This is NO deathfic, you wanna know why?  
**THERE'S ALWAYS A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL** , and I won't go down such a dark road, for your and my own sake ;)

Because I know I could write a pretty good bad deathfic. And I suppose no one of us would be coming back from that unharmed ...

well, so I guess I could've placed it anywhere ... But I decided to put it into the BBB~Universe.

I suggest you read "BRUISED BLOODY BROKEN ~ PILOT" and "Part 1 ~ AFTERMATH" first.

I'll put "timestamps" on the sequels, so you get a feeling for the timescape.

I've started off with the song "LIFE OF SIN by Nick Nolan" and changed to “7th Army Nation by 2Cellos” & some Southern Comfort

I just realized … now that I'm about to finish it … this story is going to be the death of me ...

* * *

Anyhow, let's roll:

**The Road So Far:**

_Sam's a hooker – at least for starters._

_. Dean's a hunter. Or … so to say … a retired one actually._

_The two meet in Sioux Falls, when Dean's looking for a hook-up at a bar called Nancy'n Fred'. Dean spotted a man there, who seemed to be right up his alley, even when he was a little tall._

_So they have sex a couple of times._

_Until Sam gets banged up pretty bad by two of his costumers and is left behind at an abandoned warehouse. Sam manages to kill one of the men and finds a way to contact Dean when he reaches the road heading north._

_Dean and Bobby drive off to look for him after his call and find him at the side of the road – messed up and all._

_Sam doesn't want a hospital & authorities involved, so they get him to the Salvage. Gladly Bobby's basement is equipped with a lot of medical supplies._

_They reach out to Ellen Harvelle – former paramedic to give them a hand with Samuel._

_Sam's biological mother isn't known (yet). He was raised by Jody, who vanished when Sam was 17. After that he was on his own._

_Sam's healing. He and Dean come closer ~ their relationship evolves … they start hunting together …_

* * *

**We pick up right where we have left off:**

“1 Year, 2 Weeks & 15 hrs after the events of “PILOT”

* * *

**Bruised Bloody Broken**

**Part 2 ~ Close your Eyes**

**CHAPTER 1 ~ Dean Winchester Hates Witches, He Just Doesn't Know Yet**

_6 Months, 1 Week … that's how long they've been hunting together now._

They've had a few tricky jobs so far around the country.

But this one … well … who would've thought that a red-haired hundreds of years old scottish witch would get the drop on them? Would be way over Dean Winchester's head? After all he was one of the hunters who had re-closed the gates of hell.

The witch knew her odds, Dean Winchester and Samuel _Mills_ obviously didn't.

She's left a trail of corpses along her way, dead demon-vessels, and humans with burnt out eyes and blistered skin. That's what first caught the boys and Bobby's attention, though they had no clue what they were dealing with. They were going to be pretty surprised that it was a witch going after demons and humans.

Their research led them to the conclusion, that those humans with burnt out eyes had gone missing somewhen, and now they were turning up dead.

They didn't really care about the dead demons, since it meant that there'd be one less bastard from hell walking the earth. Then again – they memorized the idea that someone was busting their asses for later – that there might was something big going on

If they'd find out why those humans were killed and if they figured out who this did, they might as well get to know why killing demons was a thing nowadays.

Multiple leads led them to Rapid City, South Dakota.

Since they had no clue what they would be walking into, they observed the abandoned factory at the outskirts of Rapid City for a week or so, watching a ginger-haired woman in partly middle-aged dresses come and go.

She seemingly was all by herself. A well hidden devil's trap at the entrance didn't get her caught, so she definitely was no demon.

Though, that didn't mean that she wasn't dangerous despite her petite appearance. So, they figured it would rather be a witch, or something Bobby, Dean or Sam had not come across so far.

This meant, they were going into it practically blindfolded.

Which – they knew – was one stupid thing to do. You'd never walk into a hunt half-cocked.

Ignoring that fundamental rule of hunting, would soon teach them a rather hard lesson.

Not just Bobby, but also the boys wouldn't come out of this unharmed.

You never underestimate a witch.

_SPN_

They found themselves in a hive of stormy weather inside the factory's manufacturing hall.

The atmosphere was electrifying, the air prickling and cracking with anticipation.

Dean and Sam found themselves in a hive of magic storms, pained cries coming from expelled demons and humans with bristled skin and bright blinding bluish light coming from their eyes, burning them. All the while, the witch was chanting ancient lines in a scottish accent, her eyes black and burning dark-red irises.

She had sent the both of them flying across the hall before either of them could make a move on her, pinning them to a concrete wall.

The witch snapped her fingers and everything came to a halt. The dim lights went out, the yelling and screams stopped abruptly, so did the storm, the chanting and everything else that was going on.

And as soon as all this had happened, the darkness of unconsciousness took a hold on the boys.

_SPN_

In the darkness surrounding her, she crossed the room from her altar towards the hunters. As she stood in front of them, she kneeled down on the floor, her hands hoovering mere inches above their heads. She closed her eyes,sensing them, reading them.

“Hunters.”, she purred and opened her eyes and smiled broadly. “I think we can work this out, boys. It would be so much fun to watch, though I am engaged with a more pressing task.”

She closed her eyes again, her lips moving and with a deep inhale, she said a single word in welsh before she opened her eyes again.

“This is too important to have hunters on my heels, boys. I am dearly sorry.” She didn't sound sorry at all.

_SPN_

Sam was the first one to regain a grip onto the surface of awareness. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't tell if it was night or day. The hall was filled with darkness and the odor of rotten and burnt flesh and something else … something sweeter was lingering in the air. Something he had smelled when they first entered the building.

Sam groaned. The back of his head was hurting, and his back. Might as well from when the witch slamming them into the wall.

“Dean?”, he croaked out, willing his limps to move. Sam winced as he shifted and moved into a sitting position. “Dean?” His voice was now steadier, but still shaken.

Sam felt for the bump on the head of his back and hissed as he brushed over the tender spot. “Shit.”

“Dean!”, he called out with a hint of worry.

He had to be close. They've been right beside one another …

“Dean!”, worry turned into despair.

There was no sound. No sound at all.

Sam started to search the ground below him with shaky hands, until he felt leather against his fingertips. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Dean?”

He got a hold of the older hunter's form, groping around the prone form until he found his neck, feeling for his pulse.

It was steady and rhythmic against his fingertips.

“Dean, C'mon.”, he murmured.

It was no need, his sidekick was out for the count.

Sam searched him for eventual injuries in the darkness. He specially checked out Dean's head and torso, relieved when there were no damp and sticky spots so far. So he figured he'd have to get the both of them outside to have a closer look at him and to check him out properly.

Sam eventually managed to carry him all the way outside the building. He haven't been aware, that Dean was THAT heavy.

The day was already dawning. Which meant they've been out cold for hours, and the witch was probably gone and already miles away.

Once outside, Sam lowered his partner on the ground and checked him over thoroughly, so not to miss any injury he might had. Being certain, that Dean might was just unconscious, he dragged them to Dean's baby, which was parked about a mile away.

Arrived at the car, he searched for Baby's keys in Dean's pockets.

Once he had found them, he went to unlock the Impala with shaky hands. He jagged a cut into the sleek black varnish and swore at that.

Dean would so kill him for hurting his baby. He seemed to be at least as protective of the car as he was of Sam.

He finally managed to unlock the Impala and yanked the back-door open. He then went back to Dean and manhandled him into the car, positioning him on the backseat of the impala, so that it looked as if he was in a most likely comfortable position.

Sam then went to get two blankets from the trunk, one to be folded into a pillow and the other one to cover his unconscious man. Once Dean was settled, Sam checked his pulse again and gave him a visual once-over.

His pulse was _still_ steady and strong. Dean _still_ looked like he was sleeping deeply. In his actual position he was even snoring.

Sam figured, that the witch might have cast a spell or something on Dean. - Something he couldn't figure out out here. - He needed to get back to Bobby's …

_SPN_

In the depths of Dean's weary mind, he relived hell for what it was. Hot and cold. Filled with agony and never-ending pain. Pain and agony he had endured close to the breaking-point and after that the solemnly pleasure to torture and inflict pains of every possible kind to these lost souls.

But this hell … it was different from the one he knew. It filled him with contentment, letting him feel like HOME in the embrace of darkness, burning inside of him ever since he was raised from the dead by an unknown force.

_SPN_

Sam didn't care about speed-limits, flooring the car's gas-pedal regardlessly the eventual outcome if he'd loose traction on the wet concrete.

He's called Bobby three hours into the drive, preparing him on what was to come as soon as they'd be back.

It's been pouring hard since he first set Baby in motion.

Sam had an eye on Dean in the backseat every now and then over the rear-view mirror. Usually it would've taken him about five hours back to Bobby's, but he made it in four.

He let the car drift through the gate with squeaking tires, which led up towards Bobby's house, spurting gravel.

The car's breaks squealed when Sam forced the car to slow down rather brutal in front of the house. He didn't waste any time with getting his scattered belongings from the passenger's seat back into his pockets. He could get them later …

Everything that counted now was Dean. Figuring out what had happened and why he hadn't woken up yet.

Physically he didn't seem to be injured, besides, Sam's feeling told him, that his condition had to be of a supernatural origin.

He yanked the back-door open, wrestled Dean out of the car and brought him inside, brushing past Bobby who was holding the door open for them.

Sam carried his man to the couch, where he settled him down, so he'd be close to him while they would try to figure this out.

Dean still looked as if he was fast asleep, seemingly not to be woken by anything pursued by mankind.

_SPN_

_The day went by, so did the following night._

Dean carried on sleeping.

Bobby made quite some calls to fellow-hunters who might could have a clue which kind of spell the witch could've cast onto his surrogate-son.

Sam dug all kinds of spell-books like a mad man, always staying in the living-room, except for him needing to visit the bathroom.

_SPN_

No one would've figured, that Dean would regain consciousness all by himself again.

“Sam?”, he croaked out.

Dean felt himself being lifted from the fine tendrils of sleep, surfacing from a oddly satisfying state of mind.

“Dean?” Sam perked up from a book, his eyes wide and awake, only dark circles under his eyes were witnesses that he hadn't slept at all.

He was on his feet in an instant, crossed the short distance between the table and the couch in less seconds and was all over Dean right then.

“I was worried sick.”, Sam wrapped his long arms around the older hunter, nearly crushing his bones when he hugged him tightly and pulled him close.

“Dude.” Dean had no clue what was going on. All he could recall was the witch, the factory and that everything had went dark.

A happy sob fell from Sam's lips, his eyes filled with tears of joy. “You're back.”

Dean thought for a moment. He tentatively hugged Sam back. “Was I even gone?”

Sam pulled back, eyed Dean's face carefully, giving him a once-over. He looked recovered and relaxed, like if he had woke up after an extended, superficiant sleep.

“You slept.”, Sam said. Then paused. “Two days.”

Dean looked around curiously, realizing that they were at Bobby's. “Was I?”

“I thought you'd never wake up again.”

Dean stretched out and groaned. “Spell?”, he asked.

“Most likely.”, came from the threshold of the living-room. Bobby smiled. “Figure the spell wore off then …”

Dean sat up against the backrest, letting his legs slip from the couch. Sam sat down beside him, hand resting on his thigh.

“You're doin' okay?”, Bobby asked as he emerged, eyeing the Winchester closely.

Dean shrugged and rubbed over his face, blinking a couple of times.

“Think so ...”, Dean murmured, he took a second to check himself over in his mind.

“You not feelin' funny or so?”, Bobby asked, his expression carried worry around his eyes and forehead.

“Nope ...”, Dean answered. He was the same old same old.

“Maybe it's just been a sleeping spell to keep us from following her?”, Sam suggested thoughtfully – not mentioning that he didn't quite believe that. It's never been that _easy_.

“Must've been.”, Dean looked back at Bobby, then at Sam. “What'd I miss?”

“Nothing – You had us worried sick-”, Bobby admitted.

Dean's stomach made an audible sound. “Well. - Here I am.”, he smiled contently, “ So I guess everything turned out just fine. - What about food? 'm starving ...” … And oh hell, was he a starving man … little did Dean Winchester know, that it wasn't only food he'll hunger for soon …

_SPN_

_... to be continued_


	2. Chapter 2 ~ Life Of Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts to get ugly ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is finished, so it's all about rereading & posting it :)

**CHAPTER 2 ~ Life Of Sin**

Dean Winchester felt an itch he couldn't scratch.

He just needed to do something. He needed to get out of the house, away from the salvage …

It was close to eight pm and he felt restless. He needed to move. Just MOVE. Move somewhere, anywhere, he didn't know. He didn't know what to do with himself at all.

Actually he was zapping up and down the limited list of channels, sitting on the couch, shifting around uncomfortably. He took another sip of whiskey, sucking in air thru gritted teeth and swallowed the burning warm liquid.

Sam stole troubled glances from Dean, sensing his man's uneasiness. He laid his hand on Dean's thigh and squeezed gently. “Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Yeah- Why wouldn't I be?”, Dean gave him a tight smile and a brief look before turning his attention at the TV again.

Sam didn't believe one word. “Because you seem stressed.”

Dean pursed his lips. Yeah well, he was stressed and – by all means annoyed – somehow. Mostly because of Sam. Mostly, because the man beside him was eyeing him out of the corners of his eyes with these huge hazel-colored eyes, like a dog begging him to be petted.

Sam was the itch he couldn't scratch. Dean was sure about it.

The kid was annoying him, right from when he had woken up the day before. The way he looked. The way he moved. The way his voice rang in his ears whenever he'd speak up. Simply everything that had to do with Sam was tearing at his nerves ever since.

Hell, he didn't even know anymore why he'd put up with him in the first place …

He'd LOVE to silence him, stop him from asking if he was okay. If he needed anything. If he could get him something.

So yeah, he actually felt a need to silence Sam - and not in a good way. He'd LOVE to punch him every time he'd do as much as look into his direction, and he'd love to kick him out of the door, because the kid was all over him. _Hoovering._ Always so close and right there wherever he'd go.

Then again … he loved him. He loved him so much, it hurt. It physically hurt. He loved everything about the man next to him.

Dean actually felt a deep longing, to hear Sam scream (not to mention that he actually didn't want to make him scream in a good way), to make him beg, to do all the filthy things to the one thing he loved the most, he's done to all those souls in hell years ago.

 _And that, he couldn't do._ Something deep inside of him was revolting against these thoughts. So Dean _couldn't_ hurt the one person who meant so much to him …

Dean dumped the remote into Sam's lap, brushed the younger man's hand from his thigh and rose to his feet. He didn't as much as give him a disgusted look.

“I'll go out. - Don't wait up.”, he grumbled, snapped the keys from the table, grabbed his jacket and was out of the door before Sam could ask him again if he was okay and eventually stop him from leaving.

And Dean had to admit, that if Sam would've tried anything like that at the moment, He most likely had punched him to mush.

_SPN_

Nancy'n Fred's wasn't crowded that much tonight.

Some of the tables were occupied. At the bar there was a couple and a petite girl in plain jeans, high-heels and a tight shirt, showing off her breasts just fine.

Dean had spotted her right away when he had walked through the door, taking in her body, _checking her out._

He chose to have a seat at the bar. The bar-stool was creaking under his weight when he sat down on it and shifted into a comfortable position. Giving the bartender a sign, Dean raised his pointing- and middle-finger and greeted him with a nod at the same time.

The bartender knew him, so he didn't have to ask what to get him. He put a glass in front of Dean and poured him a double shot of Johnny Walker's Blue Label.

Dean took a sip and let his look roam through the bar. Again his gaze got caught on the girl at the sitting a couple of stools over, who obviously hadn't missed him entering either and was now looking into his direction smiling sweetly at him.

She had a fancy drink in her hands, all orange, yellow and with a funny glittering palm standing out of the cocktail-glass.

Dean smiled back at her and gulped down the golden-brown liquid in one go.

She was checking him out from tip to toe, already undressing him with her eyes. _He could tell._ He could feel her eyes on him.

For a brief moment he debated with himself. “Fuck it.”, he muttered and took the empty glass with him, as he strolled over towards her. Her body-language telling him, that she didn't mind.

“Hey there, stranger.” Her voice was smooth and seductive, her dark-brown eyes smiling sinfully at him.

“Hey there, Sweetheart.”, he greeted back and mounted the bar-stool next to her.

“Name's Catherine.”, she tilted her head to the side.

“Dean.” He gave her his most charming smile – which, by the way, always worked magic on the ladies.

They talked. _At first._

Somewhen during their conversation, she decided to settle her soft hand upon Dean's lower arm.

“What about ...” She bit her lower lip in that way, Dean Winchester couldn't withstand. “We _leave_?”

“ _Leave_ to where?” His voice was deep and dark. He asked despite that he already knew. Wherever it'd be back in the alley, or at her home he didn't care.

“My motel's not far.”, she answered, brushing thick dark hair behind her shoulder, revealing the soft white skin of her neck.

Dean took it as for what it meant. And who was Dean Winchester to not give a girl what she was asking for?

_SPN_

They went.

Her room was – indeed – not far away. It was the same motel Dean had been staying at years before when he had first met Sam. She even had the same room.

They were a bundle of hungry kisses and hot touches, the odor of fiery lust filling the room as soon as they were behind closed doors.

Dean didn't go easy on her. It was all biting and sucking. - Someone could've said it looked like he was going to eat her alive.

He shrugged off his jacket eventually. She lost most of her clothes on their way to the bed.

“There we go.”, Dean's voice all husky. He practically threw her onto the bed and was above her in the very next moment.

She made a surprised sound, but went with it.

“You like it rough?”, he asked, his eyes all lust-filled and feral, Dean's pupils blown so nothing but a thin band of emerald was seen.

She chuckled. “Hell's yeah.”

Dean made a step back, drinking in the scene before him. The woman beneath him sprawled out, waiting for him to join her. A dark, dangerous grin formed on his lips, his eyes filling with a darkness deeper than the pits of hell would promise.

With a smooth move, he reached behind his back and drew his knife slowly. The blade gleaming in the dim light of the room.

Her looks turned from deeply aroused into something more curious, and pretty fast morphed into sheer horror, as she started to realize in which situation she had brought herself into.

“No … please,”, Catherine stammered, realization dawning on her.

Dean's grin widened at the silent plea. Blackness filled his eyes, turning them into obsidian gems. “This is going to be so much fun.”, he growled.

_SPN_

_....... to be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why don't you let me know how bad you wanna read this & leave me some bacon?   
> You gotta feed the writer, or else he's going to starve, you know?


	3. CHAPTER 3 ~ Sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I already tell you, that things are going to become ugly?

**CHAPTER 3 ~ Sweetheart**

Despite that Dean had told him not to wait for him, Sam did.

This wasn't the Dean he knew. Not the one who'd hang out with him, always being closer than close most of the time. At least since the hunter had come to rescue him back in the day.

What made Sam curious about the older man's behavior too, was that it's been only a day since he had woken up from being hexed by some witch. So there was the assumption dawning on him, that it might wasn't just a sleeping-spell worming it's way through Dean's mind.

_SPN_

When Dean returned from his nightly trip, beams of sunlight were seen on the horizon, promising nice warm weather.

Sam was sitting in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and one of Bobby's books in his hands. He hadn't slept. Hadn't dared to. He's been waiting for Dean's return and somewhen during the night he wasn't sure if Dean would come back at all.

So he had started to go thru some of Bobby's spell-books. - _Again_.

He perked up from under dark bangs of hair, when he heard the front-door open. Sam heard the rustling of clothes and clattering of keys being stored in a pocket.

The door closed.

Sam clapped the book shut and laid it aside, gazing out through the kitchen's threshold, waiting for Dean to appear in his field of view.

He did, all casual and cool. The older man rounded the corner into the kitchen, going straight for Sam. As if nothing had happened last night and it was a usual morning like any other, he gave Sam a peck to the forehead, his calloused hand covering Sam's cheek for a second.

“Hey Sweetheart.”

Something cringed inside Sam at the way Dean was calling him _Sweetheart_. Besides he had never called him anything else but Sammy or baby boy so far, so this was a first. An utterly _weird_ first. The way Dean pronounced it sounded sharp to its edges, like a sharpened blade hungry to draw blood.

“Hey.”, Sam greeted back after a moment.

Dean gave him a sweet smile. “Told you not to wait up.” Then he patted the younger man's shoulder.

Sam shrugged. “I was worried.”, he gave back, watching Dean closely, as he strode towards the coffee-maker and poured himself some of the black gold into a mug, carrying a newspaper under his left arm.

He sat down at the other side of the table, took the newspaper and beat it down in front of Sam.

The younger man's looks jumped from Dean to the newspaper and back at him. “Yeah?”

“There's a job right up our alley a couple of towns over.”, Dean stated and took a gulp from the coffee. He swallowed the hot liquid and sighed as if it was the best experience ever.

Sam eyed the paper, studying the article for quite some time.

“We should hit the road in thirty.”, Dean said after another slurp.

Sam looked up, giving Dean a once over. The hunter looked sober and on high spirits. “Dean?”, he asked, sounding curious.

The older man looked at him questioning.

“You okay?” There was something to Dean he couldn't put a finger on. Something seemed to be _off_.

“I'll be as soon as we're rollin'.”, Dean emptied the mug and put it back on the table with a loud thud. “ You better get packed. - Not gonna wait up.” He was serious. Dead serious.

Sam's curiosity grew with every second that passed and with every word that came out of the other man's mouth.

Dean rose both eyebrows, asking Sam without words if he was going to get his shit together so they could take off, or if he wanted to be left behind. “Where's Bobby by the way?”

“Errands.”, Sam answered thoughtfully.

“We'll leave him a note.” With that, Dean rose to his feet. On his way out of the room, he patted Sam's shoulder. _Again_. “In the car in 25, kiddo.”

Since Dean seemed to be pretty clear about his plans, and that he'd probably take off without Sam if he wouldn't get going, Sam decided to go with it. He couldn't leave Dean like this out there on his own.

So, he didn't only write a note for Bobby to let him know they were about to go on a job, he also sent him a text, telling him that something about Dean seemed to be off, and that he couldn't let him go on a job on his own as it was.

He'd catch up with him later, would let him know how things were working out.

Sam had packed up in no-time. So had Dean.

When they were about to climb into the car, Dean looked over at Sam over the car-top.

“Sam?”, he asked, something dark in his voice.

Sam looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“Did you scratch _my_ Baby?”, he asked, something warning in his voice.

Sam stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He swallowed thickly. “Yeahhhh?” Sam huffed out an embarrassed breath and cast his look down. “I … I kinda scratched her back then.”

Dean nodded to himself, as if he was scribbled it down on a notepad in his mind, thrusted his jaw forward and pursed his lips. He was pissed, Sam could tell.

There was a long silence, neither of them moved. “On purpose?”

The younger man looked up, catching Dean's dark gaze. “I would NEVER scratch your car on purpose, Dean.” Sam shook his head in disbelieve.

_SPN_

_Near Little Falls, Minnesota_

They holed up in an abandoned farm house far off the beaten track, where the werewolf's hunting-ground was supposed to be.

The next full moon – and so the werewolf's changing circle – would happen in about seven days. So they would hole up there and check out the locals. They might as well would track the creature down before another person was going to be killed.

_SPN_

Sam kept a close eye on Dean.

Dean's behavior – while on the road – seemed to undergo a mend, beeing the old self again.

Sam was curious about where Dean had been that night, but wouldn't ask. Maybe the man had just needed a break from everything. _From him …_

_Three days went by_ without Dean seeming to be off. Then again, they hadn't really talked that much – they never did. Sam couldn't find anything triggering his spider-senses either, wherever it was for them having sex, nor the way Dean was looking or talking to him.

_SPN_

Recently, they were chilling out on an old bed with a filthy mattress, blankets thrown over it, so it wouldn't be all that gross to hang out on.

Dean had a pack of popcorn resting in his lap, snatching a kernel every now and then from it. Sam was surfing in the internet, looking up geek-stuff.

Long story short, Dean Winchester was beyond bored.

_Besides_ … ever since Sam had come back from his errands-run to get them food and snacks, Dean felt aroused and hell – _horny_ even. The way Sam's muscles moved under his jeans, how his perky butt teased something deep inside of the older man. The tender skin of Sam's neck shining thru bangs of hair every now and then. Even though invisible due to layers of fabric, Dean could practically see the man's bellybutton, waiting for him to be explored.

Dean put the bag from his lap and threw it carelessly on the dirty ground. He then took the laptop from Sam's lap, shutting it, ignoring the kid's protest completely as it landed beside them on the by blankets covered mattress.

Without a word, Dean was all over Sam, kissing him like a starving man, tearing on his clothes, buttons were ripped out, fabric got torn.

It took Sam a moment to realize what was going on and decided to go with it. He kissed him back, his hands slipping under Dean's shirt.

Dean forced himself between the younger man's legs, grinding down on him.

“Maybe try somethin' new?”, Dean practically growled into Sam's ear, his hand on his neck forcing him to bare the side of it to him.

Sam – left breathless for a moment by the force of Dean wrapping his hand tighter around his neck – tried to get a look at him.

Dean wouldn't let him, holding his head in place. “You in, or you out?” His vice dripping with dark promises.

“'m in.” Sam trusted him. He always did. So far they've had some stormy moments, some rougher ones, but never ever Dean had hurt him.

So whatever this was going to become, Sam was in for it. Besides, Dean going all possessive and shit turned him on too to be honest.

Dean's teeth grazed his neck in response, nicking his skin right where his neck disembogued to his shoulder.

Sam hissed at the sudden sting, his body arching into the man above of him and there was a low long-drawn moan coming from his throat.

“That's my boy.”, Dean praised, his voice dropping another octave, a low hot _hum_ in Sam's ears.

Dean went straight for Sam's jeans, ripping the belt open, yanking on the button and zipper.

Sam reached for Dean's hand to slow him down, telling him without words that this was going a bit too fast for his liking.

Dean fastened his grip on Sam's neck, pushing him down into the mattress, and slapping his hand away.

“ _Don't_.” It was a warning. “Move.”  
Sam's heart beat hard in his chest, feeling his own pulse thumping against Dean's hand on his neck.

“I don't want to hurt you.”, Dean added, as he flipped Sam's jeans open.

_SPN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed the muse ;)


	4. Chapter 4 ~ Never Letting Go

**CHAPTER 4 ~ Never Letting Go**

It sure had been something _new_.

Sam was outside the farmhouse on the porch, debating with himself if he should call Bobby. Tell him that he thought, that Dean wasn't okay after all. Then again … what was he supposed to tell the old man? That they've had angry sex? That Dean made him feel sore without leaving marks? That the man he loved was exploring kinks and going hard on him for the first time since they started their relationship?

Nope, he wouldn't. So he decided to text Bobby their coordinates (just in case), and let him know that Dean's mood was kind of weird - _again_ , and that they would have wrapped up their job by tomorrow night and that he'd text again when they'd be heading back.

Maybe Sam was thinking too much. Maybe he was worried about something that wasn't even there …

_SPN_

Dean was fast asleep, when Sam stepped back into the house, stashing his phone in his duffel. He moved silently with bare feet across the room, snatching his jacket from a chair next to the bed.

He needed to take a walk, get some fresh air and clear his thoughts.

So he put on his boots and left, roaming around, taking deep breaths, sorting his thoughts and over-thinking the past few days. He put everything in place in his mind, searching his memories for weird behaviors of Dean, within those past days.

Besides the rather rough sexual intercourse they have had, nothing had happened that would've risen his attention.

Though … something was nagging at him, tickling his senses when it came to Dean.

_SPN_

_Sam was annoying._ The whole fucking time.

The kid raised a little hell deep inside of him by only being there. He should've left him at Bobby's for all he knew. Dragging Sam along hadn't been a good idea.

Sure he didn't do anything to tear at his nerves on purpose, or to tempt him to punch him, but somehow he did though. Simply by … well … _being Sam_ , annoying the shit out of him.

When he recalled going all hard and rough on Sam a couple of hours ago, he felt pure glee. His manhood twitching at the memories of Sam beneath him, making all those sweet sounds whenever he'd try to protest, and Dean showing him his place in this.

A part of him didn't want this. A part of him knew this had to be wrong. Maybe that part of him had prevented him from really hurting _his man_. From going all emo and ripping him apart with bare hands, watching him beg and drown on his own blood.

Not that he actually _wanted_ Sam to die. He never would _hurt_ him. - At least that thought was roaming his mind, to not hurt him, to be his _shelter_ , his bastion of calm like he was supposed to be.

A part of Dean Winchester was afraid of himself lately. - The things he thought, that aroused him, in a sexual and non-sexual way.

The fact that he didn't regret what he had done to that woman in the motel-room frightened the living shit out of him for the glimpse of a second, but was forgotten again at least as fast.

_SPN_

Taking down the werewolf wasn't as hard. They went in, guns blazing, had the body burnt before dawn and were on the road again an hour later.

Dean had killed that son of a bitch all by himself, ordering Sam to stay the hell out of the way.

Sam was riding shotgun, as always, his head resting against the cool glass, Bob Seger's _The_ _Final Scene_ playing softly in the background.

Dean had turned down the volume, out of consideration for Sam, obviously still minding the kid's favors when it came to blaring music.

Still, something was yelling at Sam from the back of his mind. It was distant, barely audible to him over all the other thoughts that were roaming around in that giant brain of his. Maybe it were those little things, that lulled him into the current false sense of security.

Sam eventually drifted off to sleep in the passenger's seat, snoring softly.

When he woke up it was still dark, and they were still on the road.

Sam yawned and covered his mouth with one hand. “How long?”, he murmured and adjusted himself in the seat.

He glanced at his watch, blinking the last schemes of sleep away. It read 5:23 a.m.

“Shouldn't we be ..:”

“Got another one.” Dean stopped him from asking. His voice rough and unnaturally clinical.

Sam rose both eyebrows. Either he was too damn slow right now, or he's missed something. “Another what?”

“Hunt. Strigha.”, He answered.

Sam looked out of the window, trying to make out something. _Anything_. There were no road-marks, nothing besides the rolls of hills and the endless road before them.

“Shouldn't we … _you know_ … take a break?”, Sam frowned at the other man. After all, he had thought Dean had _retired_ , and he would only take on hunts if he wanted to. If not, they'd call other hunters in to get it done. They'd take at least a week or two off between hunting things.

Obviously things had changed …

“Do _you_ need a break?”, Dean asked back, giving Sam a glare.

Sam shook his head. “No, I was just wondering ...” He stretched his leg out as good and he could and fumbled for his phone.

Dean stole another look at him. “What'cha doin?”

Sam held the phone in his hand, looking back at Dean. “Tellin' Bobby we're not coming home?”

The Winchester huffed out an annoyed breath. “What? We ain't kids anymore and he sure ain't our father.”

Sam eyed him intently, trying to read in between the lines. “Yeah, but he'll be worried if I don't tell him.”

Another laugh. A hard one, sharp at it's edges. “As if he'd care.”, he mumbled under an angry sigh.

Sam shifted, broad shoulders and back against the passenger's door. “What's up with you lately?”

Dean ignored him, staring ahead on the street before them.

“What's up with all the up- and downswings of your mood?” Sam wanted to know. NEEDED to know, because whenever he had the chance to, he was reading through spells and curses which might could explain the hunter's behavior ever since the incident at the abandoned factory.

“That's your problem, Sam. _This is me._ It's always been me. - I changed because of you … _YOU_ changed me. You've turned me all nice and soft. and honestly? _It sucks_.”, Dean burst out angrily. “Being nice and soft gets you _hurt_. Gets you _killed_ sooner or later.”

There was a beat of absolute silence.

“Our relationship sucks? So that's what it's all about?” Sam may was mostly calm, attentive, picking up on things that haven't been said and was tolerant of mostly everything. But Dean's words _hurt_. They had went straight to his heart like a sharp knife, cutting deep.

Not just that it _hurt_ like a bitch, it also brought the younger man's temper in-game.

Dean harrumphed instead of answering.

Sam huffed out a breath in disbelieve. “Yeah well … good to know then.”

“Yeah. Because you know what? I think, I was only putting up with you, because you're an easy fuck.” Dean clicked with his tongue and licked over his white teeth.

Sam shook his head, tears starting to sting in his eyes as he turned away and stared out of the window.

If it wasn't for loving Dean as much as he did, he would've told him to stop the car so that he could get out of this situation. But he wouldn't let Dean get rid of him that easy. Not without telling him what exactly had been changing his mind.

Because there was still this tiny flicker of hope, that it was not Dean talking. And if he was? Well … then they needed to break up, because he wouldn't let anyone – not even Dean – treat him this way.

Sam just needed to give himself some time to process what he's been told just now, so he wouldn't cry like a baby as soon as he would have that kind of talk with Dean.

_SPN_

The rest of the drive was silent.

They holed up in yet another deserted house somewhere along their way, close to where the dead bodies had turned up.

Sam decided to avoid Dean as far as it was possible.

Dean didn't seem to care in the least. He even looked _satisfied_ by Sam getting out of his way.

There was a greasy couch, it's fabric's covers ripped, was occupied by Dean as soon as they had went inside.

Sam didn't mind, he'd prefer the floor anyway. Specially after what his partner had said earlier, he wasn't eager to be even near him in any damn fucking way.

The man had managed, that he'd feel dirty and filthy all over, with a decaying cherry on top.

_SPN_

That evening, Dean went out and didn't come back until late that night. Obviously he's gotten them something to eat from somewhere. Paper-bags with sandwiches, water and soda pops and a little hunter's helper.

Well, he's gotten himself something.

Sam couldn't care less. After all he wasn't hungry and he sure as hell wouldn't give Dean any kind of satisfaction by coming crawling to him on his knees for anything. Not even food. He'd prefer to starve, before he'd maneuver himself into another disregarding situation with Dean.

_SPN_

The next morning came early for Sam.

Dean woke him up rather uncomfortable with a firm nudge in his side. “You better get your sorry ass up and goin'. I've got a lead.”

Sam growled. Actually growled at the harsh way of being woken up. He growled at Dean, he growled at the whole fucking world.

“Fuck you.” Sam was _so not_ coming with him. If he wanted to hunt the Strigha he'd have to do it all by himself.

“What'd you say?” Dean said, a warning undertone to it, as he turned around on his heels.

Sam shot up into a sitting position on the floor and stared up at him in that stubborn way only Sam Winchester was capable of. “ _Fuck You._ \- Should I spell it to you, Dumbass?”

Anger flared up in the older man's features, his expression icy, as he stared daggers at Sam.

“You know what? ..:”, he kicked a rusty can aside and lunged forward, gripping Sam by his hair. “Fine. - We can do that the easy or the hard way. Obviously you're preferring the hard one.” Dean dragged him across the room before Sam could protest.

He felt the change of surface beneath him, turning from wood into something more sleek. _Tiles_.

Sam – fairly surprised – on what was actually happening, that this had gotten physical in a matter of seconds, reached for Dean's arm, grabbing his wrist tightly, trying to free himself from the brutal grip.

Due to the fact, that he was in a rather awful position to fight the older man off, he couldn't do anything but struggle, making it not THAT easy on him, to drag him around like some dog who was about of being punished.

“No, Dean! What the hell are you doing?!”, he burst out, when he felt handcuffs being slapped around his wrists and fastened tightly.

A brutal punch to his cheek followed, so hard and mercilessly that Sam saw stars and white dots crawling into his vision.

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment, while he cuffed Sam's ankles together and used another pair of cuffs, to fix them to the pipe of a sink. Dean gripped the sink tightly when he stood again, and tore at it so to make sure Sam wouldn't be able to free himself.

Sam was still trying to shake off the dizziness due to the hit, when he felt the tip of a heavy boot dig forcefully into his side, drawing all air from his lungs. Leaving him gasping and coughing.

This couldn't be happening.

_This couldn't be Dean._

Not at all. This was not Dean, never could be. His Dean would never ever do this to him, he'd never come for him like that. The Dean he knew would never intentionally hurt him.

“So you know, kiddo. - We're not done yet.”, Sam heard a pissed off, rough Dean as a pair of black eyes stared down at him, as he lingered at the edges of consciousness

_SPN_

Sam couldn't tell how long he was out.

A sledgehammer was thumping against the insides of his skull. His side hurt. He could practically feel the bruise spreading across his stomach.

First he wasn't aware of what had drawn him back above the surface of consciousness, until his bleary look got caught on a pair of brown boots and jeans before him. He winced, when he moved his head to look up at those legs, the hammering increasing in intensity and speed.

“D'n?”, he croaked out.

There was a dark chuckle, the boots and jeans shifted, when the person wearing them squatted down.

Dean's face appeared in his few.

Sam felt his split lip tickling.

“There you go.” Dean's voice sounded sharp, heavy and low, sending a stabbing pain thru his forehead and ears.

Dean was grinning at him. The grin morphing into a sweet, nearly soft, but still dangerous smile. The memory of a pair of black eyes flashed up.

“Who are you?” Sam slurred, as he couldn't hide the worry in his voice.

Dean's eyes weren't black. - Not at the moment at least.

This so-not-Dean chuckled wickedly. Again. “Well, who do you think I am?”

“Demon.”, Sam sniffed and tried to shift in a more comfortable position on the dirty tiles, but it was no use. The cuffs were too restricting.

The man before him chuckled again. “No, Sweetheart. - I can assure you, it's ALL ME inside.” He drew something from his pocket.

Sam's eyes widened as a syringe came into his field of view. “ _No_ … You don' wanna do this ...”

“You have no idea what I want to do.” Dean uncapped it and snipped with his finger's against the plastic. “I can't have _old grumpy_ burst in on us. - Saw you've sent him our recent coordinates earlier.” Dean tilted his head to the side. “Found us a nice place that's just right for the both of us...” He pressed a few drops of clear liquid from the syringe.

Sam's gaze flashed from Dean back at the syringe, as he swallowed audibly. “What are you doin'?”

“Can't have you go all _Mendez_ on me now, can I?.”, Dean answered cheerfully.

_SPN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse is starving ... she loves bacon ... just sayin' ;)


	5. CHAPTER 5 ~ Night Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ........... bad things are about to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD!!! THIS CHAPTER IS REAL BAD! YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO READ THIS! IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC TORTURE!!!

**A/N:**

**EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD!!! THIS CHAPTER IS REAL BAD! YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO READ THIS! IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC TORTURE!!!**

**CHAPTER 5 ~ Night Moves (Title by Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band)**

Robert Singer cursed loudly, as he – once again – only reached Sam's mailbox. He had tried Dean's phone too. And Dean's _Other-Other-phone_.

The boys weren't to be reached.

Sam was over-due with his daily message on how things were going. The last text he had received was yesterday night.

Bobby knew Dean. He knew – though he hadn't been like that since he was with Sam – he would lash out on people who were close to him whenever something was bothering him, instead of talking about it.

Sam just haven't met this side of Dean yet. - Maybe that was one of reasons, why the kid seemed to stay in contact with the old man so desperately, trying to figure out if it was just Dean having a bad day, or Dean being not Dean.

Then again … maybe it hadn't been wise to call off Rufus from digging through his journal on a hunt for a spell that probably didn't even exist … Maybe Sam hadn't been over-sensitive about Dean's behavior at all and there was _more_ to it …

It might wasn't a good sign either that Sam wasn't picking up, since he knew now for an hour, that a girl had gotten killed in town – practically tortured to death in a motel-room. Another body with similarities was found, where the boys had worked the case with the werewolf only days ago.

He reread Sam's message once again, their coordinates at the very beginning of the text.

_Going to hunt a Strigha. If you don't hear from me by 6:00 p.m. tomorrow come and find us. Backup on behalf._

First, Bobby had thought, that Sam was just … SAM. Concerned about things there was no reason to be concerned about at all. - Because sometimes things weren't as pink and fluffy as they seemed...

But now that he knew, that Dean could have probably killed these people, things were different.

Robert Singer had already reached out to Rufus and Ellen.

Because he knew, that Dean Winchester was no hunter you'd get the drop on that easy. No matter if he was truly himself at the moment, hexed, or whatever else the witch had done to the boy eventually.

_SPN_

The first thing he truly felt were the tightly wrapped restrains to his wrists and ankles. Made of soft material and though digging into his skin.

The second thing were the soft pounds in his head and the tearing sensation in his stomach. He felt the coolness of air against his upper body, which high likely meant, that he'd been partly undressed.

Sam tried to move his legs, hearing his jeans rustle against a smooth surface.

He felt himself in a slightly sitting position, his head resting on a head restraint. At least he figured so, since it didn't feel like a usual chair he was sitting in.

There was a rather bright light hovering above him, though, his surroundings seemed to be enlightened by a much dimmer sources of light.

In his foggy mind, he could make out a presence.

The clearer his head got, the more obvious his surroundings became. He could make out concrete-walls. A table not far off, _a Dean-like_ scheme standing there with the back towards him, _doing something._

“Thought I might've used too much of the sedative on you, Sweetheart.”, Dean's voice echoed through the empty room. “But now that you're awake ...”, he trailed off, reaching for something out of Sam's sight.

“Dean.”, he croaked out. “ _This isn't you …_ ”

“You keep tellin' that yourself.” He clucked his tongue.

“Whatever this is … you can fight _this_.”, Sam carried on, since he didn't see another way to get out of this any way soon. Either he'd talk Dean out of this – if he could truly reach him – if this was really Dean. Or he'd have to draw this out and wait for Bobby to come and get them. The latter seemed pretty much unlikely, since if he'd come, he'd be looking in all the wrong places.

Chances were probably small to none, that the old man would get to them in time. And if he'd do, he probably had still no idea which spell – or counter-spell – they could use to get _his Dean_ back. _If_ it was a spell, and _if_ this was truly his Dean.

Besides … If this was his man, Dean'd high likely beat himself up about what he would've had done to Sam by the time he would come back to himself.

He would blame himself.

_He would be a mess …_

Sam could slap himself for telling Dean to _fuck off_. He probably could've drawn this out. He could've drawn – whatever this was – out for their both sakes. Until he or Bobby would've found something to drag Dean out of whatever he was in right now.

“What if I _don't want_ to fight this?” Now Dean was turning around to face Sam, his eyes black as the darkest night. He was holding a small knife in his hand, showing it off.

Just because it was a small one didn't mean it wasn't sharp or wouldn't do any bad harm.

“What if I _like_ doing this? .. You know … my time in hell … I was damn good at what I was doing downstairs. I _loved_ doing it. For _once_ I felt whole, as if I was in the right place for the first time in my life.” He sighed, as he was taking a trip down memory lane. Dean clucked his tongue again, and licked over his lower lip. “You know … I thought … At first. It's about killing someone. - And I tried. I really did. - But you know what, Sammy?” He strolled towards the examination-chair Sam was strapped to, the knife in his hand, the other one reaching out for Sam's thigh. “It's not about the _others_ … It's about _you_. - I couldn't figure it out … Not right away. - But then I realized … not simply torturing and killing someone is what's going to set me free.” He smiled, sympathetically. “It's you who's going to set me free.”

_SPN_

Bobby cursed. _Again_. The clock was ticking and the boys had vanished from their radar to god knew where.

Rufus and Ellen were standing behind the grizzled hunter in an abandoned farm-house somewhere around nowhere.

Not just that they were _gone_. That, and the fact, that Sam still hadn't made himself known by calling or writing, meant, that Sam's been right about something being wrong with Dean.

They still had no clue on how to fix whatever spell the witch had used on Dean either. So they figured, that they'd solve one problem at a time. First they needed to find the both of them, then they'd take care of whatever was possessing the Winchester-Boy.

“What're we gonna do now?”, Ellen asked, turning to look at Bobby.

“Tracking spell.”, Bobby answered, rummaging thru the left pocket of his jacket and drew a small plastic-bag with hair from it. “Got it from Sam's brush before leavin'.”

Rufus huffed out a laugh. “Never gonna tease that kid about his hair again.”

_SPN_

Sam bit back a groan, as the small knife nicked at the tender spot of skin under his jaw until it drew blood. It wasn't deep, nor was it lethal, but it hurt like a bitch, as Dean drew the knife another couple of inches through his stubbles skin.

“Death by a thousand cuts, Sweetheart … well not exactly as they did it in ole china I suppose, since I've got all that shit from the trunk in here...”, he mused as he withdrew the knife, and settled it against Sam's chest. He nicked his skin again. Another cut. This time deeper, longer, as Dean moved the knife slowly.

Sam strained against his bindings, his hands balled into fists, knowing exactly that screaming would only satisfy whatever Dean was riding at the moment. He needed to last as long as possible, giving the old man at least a chance to get to them before he'd do anything lethal to Sam.

Dean took his sweet time with the small knife.

Though, Sam wouldn't cry. Wouldn't scream. Wouldn't do as much as flexing muscles and swallow whatever sounds dared to come out of his mouth.

Dean hummed along the chords of _Night Moves_. “Oh, don't you worry. I am going to make you scream. This way or another. You will beg me. You will scream my name.”

“No.”, Sam gritted out thru gritted teeth, pearls of sweat covering his whole body, mixing with thin lines of blood.

“You'll give in. You'll see.” Dean seemed pretty sure of it, as he pulled back the knife and walked back towards the table laying it back down, only to return with a scalpel.

“This isn't _you_.”, Sam said out loud what he was chanting in his head over and over again. This wasn't Dean. His Dean would never do this. No way. So when this was all over – they'd have to work shit out big-style

“ _My Dean_ won't do this …” Because he just wouldn't

“Well, he did in hell, and obviously he is going to do this to you too.”, the not-so-much-Dean mused.

“What happened downstairs, stays downstairs. That're your words, Dean. YOU said that to me. Do you remember? When I asked you to tell me … you said it'd stay downstairs.”, Sam babbled, his face laid in tight lines at the effort to not show how much this was hurting.

Not the physical pain, but what it did to his very soul.

Dean showed the scalpel to Sam and rose both eyebrows questioning. “Gonna mark you up real nice?”

Sam swallowed, tears already stinging in his eyes. Not because of the pain – not yet anyway – but because of the expression on Dean's face.

All black eyes, joy and the satisfaction of inflicting pain mirroring in them.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to pull back. Trying to leave the real world and leave his body as he's already done in the past when things got awry.

_SPN_

............ to be continued ^^


	6. CHAPTER 6 ~ Deliver Us From Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so ... it's not over yet ... what if Sam's going to loose hope and everything's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank each and everyone of you for your ongoing support :)   
> It really means a lot to me, to have you folks stick around my stories. :)

**CHAPTER 6 ~ Deliver Us From Evil**

It was dark and damp.

Somewhere, water was dripping.

Heavy iron cuffs digging into his right ankle, leaving ugly marks behind he'd probably carry for the rest of his life, remembering _this_ each and every day.

Then again … did it even matter?

He was cold, dirty. His whole body was hurting. The blistered bottoms of his feet burned like hell. Even if he wanted to try and flee from wherever Dean had brought him, he probably wouldn't get far.

Sam didn't know where and when he was. It felt like an eternity by now. For all he knew it could've only been hours or maybe days …

He must've passed out at some point. Sam couldn't remember. He didn't want to remember. Drawing back into himself, pulling himself into that save place he used to go, hadn't worked. Not with Dean doing this to him. Not with Dean talking and telling him _things_.

The real torture here was, that it was the man he loved doing this to him and the knowing, that wherever they were going to be saved or not, it would never be the same again.

_Not after this._

It couldn't possibly go back to how it was before, no matter if it was for Dean or himself or even the both of them.

What counted now, was to survive this. Sam needed to survive, so that Dean would be able to survive _this_ too.

_SPN_

“Got it!”, Rufus burst out from the backseat of Bobby's pickup-truck.

The tall man sat cramped up between piles of books Bobby had stashed in the car before taking off from the salvage, in case – and against all odds – they'd be able to figure out what the witch had done.

Ellen looked back over her shoulder.

Bobby chose to use the rear view-mirror to catch Rufus' look. “Got what?”, he asked gruffly

“Knew I've read something like that before ...” He smacked his lips. “So … you know … when you called me about a ginger-bitch-witch. - I knew someone dealt with somethin' like that before. - I started goin' thru my journal and when you called it off I let it drop ...”

“Cut to the chase, Rufus.”, Bobby cut him short.

“Yeah, fine fine.” He took a deep breath. “Long story short. It's aught'a be a curse … No spell. - It's old walish.”

Bobby waited for him to continue when he paused.

“And?”, Ellen asked.

“Bobby said cut to the chase. That's it.”

Ellen sighed annoyed.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “How do we break it?”

Rufus pulled a face. “We don't. - It's wearin' off as soon as the other cursed person's dead.”, he answered bitterly.

“Well. - I didn't want you to tell a story, but you aught to give some more information?” Bobby's voice high-pitched. “So we can figure somethin' out?”

“The spell only works when someone else's around you're somehow bonded to. - Sleepin' beauty – as soon as he wakes up – 's gonna kill whoever's with him when the opponent looses _hope_. Somethin' along that lines.”, he explained. “Once the person is dead, the curse is supposed to wear off.”

“Well, Dean seemed fine at first.”, the grizzled hunter remarked.

“My Journal's not here, so I can't tell what notes I've taken twenty hears ago.”

“Just peachy.”, Bobby grumbled.

“What're we gonna do now?”, Ellen asked worriedly. “Rufus Cabin is ten hours into the other direction. Not like we're gonna let someone kill anyone here, do we?”

Bobby shook his head. “Ain't no curse you can't break.”, he growled. “We'll figure it out when we get there.” _… hopefully in time_ , he added in his thoughts as he – once more – floored the gas-pedal “I took a book about curses with us. - Maybe there's somethin' we can try and use to break it.”

_SPN_

The cold water burned in his wounds, biting them open again.

“Salt-water.”, Dean stated, “does wonders, doesn't it?”

Sam could practically hear Dean smile, as an agonizing scream ripped from his roughed up throat and torn lungs.

He was in the chair again – no clue how he had gotten there though.

“Isn't you.”, Sam said out loud once more. “But it's okay … _I got you_.”, he panted.

The rustling of clothes was heard. Things clattering not far away from Sam.

Dean's voice came closer again. “You still think someone's comin' to save you, aren't you?”

“Save _us_.”, Sam murmured, on the verge of passing out _again_ , if it wasn't for a slap pulling him back completely into awareness.

“We're beyond saving, Sweetheart. You of all should know better.”, his voice was steady and cool and somehow amused as he talked.

“ _We're not.”_

“Always the bossy one, aren't 'ya?”, Dean voice went distant again. He walked up and down the table, eyeing the laid out utilities there.

 **D.W.** Was curved deep into Sam's flesh above his right chest. Dean had been opening up the lacerations a second time by now, making sure they wouldn't even dare to start to heal.

“You can go all the way, Dean.”, Sam panted, “But if you do, we're going _together_.”

Dean's laughter echoed through the room.

“I won't leave you.”, Sam added.

“Only because you can't.”

It was all about buying time by now. Sam was barely holding onto it altogether. As long as they talked, distracting Dean, would probably draw things out and would give Bobby chances to reach them in time.

“Even if I could, I wouldn't.”, Sam whispered.

Dean sighed heavily. “You know, I'm going to break you. - And when I finally do, I'll deliver you from pain.”

“Why putting up with me for so long?”, Sam asked.

“'cause I can.”, Just plain and simple.

“You're still in there somewhere, right?”, Sam asked, a flash of hope dawning in his mind. “You can't just … _kill me_.”

_SPN_

Bobby hissed through gritted teeth. They still had an hour to go to where the spell had showed them that the boys had to be.

Well, it hadn't told them exactly with coordinates, but that was what they had, and they'd work it out.

Gladly there were only two locations close to were the pendulum hat gotten to a halt above the map. Either they were in a burnt down asylum, or somewhere in the woods.

Ellen was scrabbling ancient words on a sheet of paper, while Rufus was going thru a duffel with several magical ingredients which were used when it came to witchcraft.

_SPN_

Sam moaned, shifting a little.

His throat felt raw. His screams had ebbed away. Wherever Dean'd do something to him, there were only hoarse sounds left.

“Told you so.”, Dean eyed the kid in triumph. Sam's rib-cage rose and fell at a rapid pace, his whole body covered in blood and pale skin perking out between bruised skin. His eyes were half open, fighting the urge to roll back in their sockets, and loose awareness again.

“There you go, Sweetheart. - You're close.”, he whispered into Sam's ear, licking blood from his ear-lobe. “You're so good for me. I love drawing this out, you know. - Cutting tiny peaces out of you … Showing you, that there's no salvation but death waiting for you ...”

Sam's lips moved, but no sound came out.

His eyes bleary, a tear running down his cheek, mixing with blood that was smeared across his face.

“I know, I know ...” Dean covered the carved initials on Sam's chest with a soaked salt-water cloth, pressing it down hard, drawing another raw sound from Sam. “You're still holding onto _something_. - But you will see … as soon as you let go it's going to be just fine.” Dean's voice was soft and gentle, luring.

Sam mouthed a _No_.

Dean pressed the salt-water-soaked cloth harder onto the wound. “You'll see ...”

_SPN_

They parked the Pickup-truck a few hundred yards away from the asylum, covered by trees. Bobby shared looks with Ellen and Rufus, who checked their shotguns – loaded with rock-salt – briefly.

“No live bullets.”, Bobby repeated, checking over his own shotgun. “We've got everything?”

Ellen rose the sheet of paper and patted the big bag she was wearing. There was a huge red cross in a white circle printed onto it.

Rufus showed the small leather-bag with ingredients and a brass bowl.

“Let's do this.”, Bobby ground out and the three of them took off towards the worn down building.

_SPN_

Dean placed a tender kiss to Sam's split lip, licking along it's lower outline, breathing in Sam's exhale. He groaned in ecstasis as he tasted iron.

An inaudible sob ghosted over Sam's lips.

This might as well was it.

They wouldn't come. They wouldn't find them. Not here, wherever they were right now. Sam had told himself he'd go down swinging, _but now_ … now that he thought about it, death to be his salvation didn't sound that bad at all. - 'Cause after all … death wasn't absolute and it wasn't really the end ...

_SPN_


	7. CHAPTER 7~ The Final Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just ... I'm sorry for this. I really am ... what I've done to Sam ... AND Dean ... I can never ever forgive myself ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N.:  
> Changed to “Broken Halos by Chris Stapleton” …
> 
> You guys are my sunshine on cloudy days, when everything seems too dark & miserable. ;) carry on commenting on this one, give me fuel XD

**CHAPTER 7~ The Final Scene**

Death wasn't really an end.

Nor was it truly final, was it?

 _After all_ … they'd see each other again on the other side, Sam figured. Hopefully not any time soon, but though … surely time was working in different ways upstairs.

Now, that he was so close, it didn't seem all that bad. Not anymore anyway. No more pain. No more of Dean doing this to him, whispering all those hurting words into his ear. If he'd give in, he wouldn't only free himself from this, but also Dean Winchester from the fallout that would be raining down on him as long as Sam'd be around.

He wouldn't have to watch Dean break. He wouldn't have to be around watching Bobby picking up his pieces and glue them together again …

Dean wouldn't have to watch Sam try to deal with this. He wouldn't have to feel like he'd have to take care of him, make it up to him …

 _After all_ … what was even left between the both of them after this?

  
Sure, Sam had been in similar situations, but never in one, where someone he loved would do things to him. So far he had always been able to wrap those things up and store them in one of those black boxes he had been storing away in his mind. But now? He didn't know if he would be able to get rid of the recent events that easily.

Probably he wouldn't. Because this was about the man he loved. They would be both hurting. They'd be hurting together because of the same thing, and that meant nothing good. Neither of them would be able to pull the other one out of those stormy waters.

_They'd drown._

He knew Dean well enough to tell, that this wasn't going to end well. Either of them would break up with the other, going separate ways. Neither of them would be able to let go completely in the end.

It would be easier to pull one of them out of the equation. So at least one of them would be able to go on with his life … And since it was sincere, that there was any way for them to get out of this unharmed, he decided it had to be him who'd do the math.

It had to be him, due he was the weakest link in the chain.

Maybe it was a good thing to give into it. There was nothing left inside of him that felt the need to fight. That wanted to try and work this out. He was so tired, as the dark warmth of death seemed to call for him, pulling him under.

Sam's chest shuddered with a sob, wrecking him to the core.

Tears streamed freely from his blood-shot eyes.

“ _It's okay._ ” Sam's voice was raw, rough, barely audible, as he looked up at his torturer, who was so close he could feel his warm breath against his skin.

They locked eyes.

Something like regret traveled over Dean's face, lines of sorrow playing along his soft features, a hand resting on Sam's cheek, rubbing away tears ever so gently.

“I'll leave it to you.”, Dean breathed against his lips. “However you wanna do it … I'm game.”

Sam gave him a shaky nod, blinking tears away.

Then his face vanished from Sam's view, only to return moments later again above him.

Sam could feel cold metal against his chest – a blade, sharp and smooth against his skin.

“ _Please_ … not like this.”, Sam breathed, reassuring him with his look, that he wasn't trying anything, that he wouldn't go anywhere. That he was right where he belonged. _“Unbind me.”_

Dean did open the restrains to his wrists and ankles. He tugged the knife into his belt and moved around the chair, scooping Sam up in his arms as if he weighted nothing.

Sam leaned into him, his forehead resting against the older man's neck.

Ever so gently, Dean lowered him to the floor, careful not to hurt him, supporting his head.

Sam blew out a sigh of relief, as he felt the cold tiles against his back. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment and when he opened them again, Dean was there, kneeling right beside him, one hand resting on the bloody letters carved into his chest.

A shaky hand settled on Dean's jaw. For a brief moment, Dean closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. When they opened again, Sam thought he could see his Dean. All emerald-green shiny eyes, a reassuring smile wearing on his lips. _So much love … and so much pain._

“It's okay.”, Sam mouthed. _Because it was._

“Close your eyes, Sammy.”, Dean whispered softly, wiping another tear from Sam's face.

Another sob wrecked through Sam's pattered body.

“Please...”, the hunter's voice was mere a whisper, looking down at him pleadingly, “Sammy. Close your eyes.”

For what it was worth, Samuel obeyed.

_SPN_

The three hunters weren't from the silent folks.

They burst thru the huge entrance of the asylum – causing as much attention as possible.

They knew they had to split up for this, since they had to cover more ground than actually expected.

Neither of them had thought, that simply bursting in guns blazing, would be enough to draw the boys attention. - Or rather _Dean's_ attention.

They didn't even make it across the giant hall, as Dean appeared on top of the stairs which led into the basement, gun drawn, pointing it right at his friends, moving closer slowly until they were mere yards apart.

“Dean?”, Ellen called out, drawing his attention.

“Where's Sam?”, Bobby asked, known for not beating around the bush at all and now that time was short, he had to press the matter.

Dean tilted his head to the side. “Have you ever really cared? Or was it just because he was _somehow_ related to Jody?”, he asked coldly. “Are you so full of regret, for not saving her?”

“Why don't you put that gun down, son?”, Bobby spoke calmly.

Ellen shared a look with Rufus, communicating without words.

“We don't want to hurt you.”, Bobby added, keeping Dean's attention at him. “Put your gun down. - We're here to help. We can talk about this.”

Dean huffed out a breath. “Help? You wanna help, why don't you back off then?”

“'Cause we can't. That's not you talkin' boy, and you have to know that. It's a curse. Whatever shit's goin' thru that head of yours right now – _it's not you_. We know that. _Sam_ knows that. - So why won't you let us help you.”

While Bobby was rambling on, Dean's eyes narrowed, the expression on his face started to change slowly.

An uneasy feeling spread at the inside of Dean Winchester. Something was shifting in his mind. Something was changing hard and fast. It felt like something got torn out of him, as if his soul was ripped from his body agonizingly slow.

His breath caught in his lungs, not allowing him to take in air. His throat constricted, his brain felt as if it was set on fire.

Dean threw his head back, his eyes flashing black for a moment, before they sobered up completely. The weapon slipped from his grasp and fell. His legs went weak as he fought for much needed oxygen and they eventually connected hard with the tiled floor the very next moment.

Dean could feel himself fade. He could feel his heart raging in his chest, fighting to keep him alive …

_SPN_

It were only mere seconds of being unconscious, and though it felt like an eternity. His dreams had been freaking the living shit out of him.

Not just because of hell, Alistair, and the things that had been done to him, but also the things he had done to all those souls. And then there'd been Sam. _His Sam._ Bound to a chair. Telling him to stop. Crying. Screaming. In agony. Debating with him. Telling Dean that this wasn't him and that it would be okay to use this knife on him.

Hell, the way he'd felt … The pure bliss, satisfaction, salvation … He's been in a frenzy. _intoxicating him …_

As his eyes fluttered open, there were faces hovering over him, talking to him, asking him stuff he had no clue about – at least not at the moment.

He blinked. Hand's shooting up and shoving those faces aside. He actually should know who they were, he knew that, but – nonetheless – it took him another few seconds to add names and memories to these people.

“Fuck.”, Dean cursed panting, “Dammit.” He struggled to get to his feet, balancing himself out as he stood on unstable feet. He took in his surroundings, recalling, that he's been there in his never-ending dreams too. “What ...” Actually he wanted to ask what had happened. How he ended up on a dirty floor and how Bobby, Rufus and Ellen had come here. And where Sam was.

_But he already knew …_

Slowly but surely it dawned on him, that this hadn't been a dream. Not at all. It's been real. All of it. The anger. The rage. The desperation. Feeling what he felt while torturing and killing those people. While hurting Sam.

_It had been damn fucking real._

Dean looked at his hands, turning to see his bloodied palms.

He knew this wasn't his own. He knew this was Sam's. _Sam's blood on his hands._

It struck him like an animal getting hit by a bus at the very moment, what he truly had done. That this could've never been a fucking fever-dream.

_It's okay_ , echoed through his mind, seeing his loved man's bloodshot, wet eyes before his inner eye, he himself feeling the handle of the knife weighing heavy in his hand.

“ _Sam_.” Dean's eyes were blown wide in terror. Coldness crawled into him, closing around his rapidly beating heart in a vice grip.

He'd been awake this whole time. And he had just went with it. He'd given into whatever he had been dreaming, since he hadn't been able to wake up from this by himself.

Dean turned on his heels, reaching for Ellen's wrist. “Come.”, he ordered, not leaving room for protests, as he dragged her with him, shoving Rufus out of the way who was blocking his way towards the staircase.

Dean Winchester ran. Rounding the corner towards the stairs with a slide, as he lost traction on the tiled floor. Ellen was close to stumbling over her own feet, when she tried to keep up Dean's pace. He practically sailed down the stairway, taking two at a time.

“Sam!”, he yelled speeding up the past few yards, throwing himself thru the double door into the room he knew he'd find him.

Ellen was fast on his heels, the heavy first-aid bag swaying on the verge of sliding off her shoulder, as she sidestepped into the room Dean was heading. The heavy double door nearly knocked Ellen from her feet, when it swayed back at her before she was able to slip inside.

Dean let go of Ellen's wrist, when he spotted the motionless body on the ground. The room was crossed in no time, and Dean slid the last few feet towards his man on his knees, gliding along the tiles.

Sam was so pale. His lips of a slightly blue. His rib-cage still, as it didn't look as if he was breathing at all.

“Sammy.”,he panted, not daring to touch touch him, not at all.

This had been him. This all had been him … He's done that. He alone. _Not like this_ , he heard Sam's broken voice echo in his head, _Please_.

Ellen was there right then, shoving Dean out of the way, not wasting time telling him he should move so she'd have space to work.

She gave the prone form on the floor a once-over with her look, before she tilted his head to the side to get access to his neck, feeling for a pulse.

Dean stared at the scene before him in horror, Sam's face blank, his eyes closed. Unconsciously he reached for the knife tugged to his belt. Ever so slowly, he drew it, once feeling the heaviness of it in his hand, remembering what he had been about to do.

It dropped from his hand as if it was burning-hot.

It was less reassuring, that there was no blood on the blade, since he'd done enough harm to Sam without stabbing him in the heart like the Dean in his dreams had been planning to.

Ellen didn't move at all, her hand still covering Sam's neck, _waiting_ … _feeling_. Too long.

Dean swallowed a sob, trying to breathe through his constricting lungs.

Bobby and Rufus burst into the room, dropping their guns and other equipment they were carrying.

Dean just sat there, on his heels, barely capable of processing what was happening.

Ellen looked up from the lifeless body, catching Bobby's look. “Call 911”, was all she said, before going for it, and started with her resuscitation procedures.

Dean stared in horror, tears running down his face, as he had to watch what he had done. As he had to become witness of Ellen and Rufus trying desperately to safe his man's life, while he couldn't.

_SPN_


	8. CHAPTER 8 ~ Hold The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going easy on Dean ... He'll have to deal with it though ... at least, the way I wrote him ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SOOO sorry ...

**CHAPTER 8 ~ Hold The Line**

_Ellen was driving._ Hands wrapped tightly around the steering-wheel, almost flooring the gas-pedal as she speed down the road in the Impala, every now and then glancing into the rear-view-mirror having cautious looks at Dean Winchester.

He sat behind her in the backseat, staring blankly outside the window. His – in already dried blood covered – hands resting in his lap. A bitter witness of his mastered hands of torture.

Every now and then he blinked, tears already spent until there was nothing left.

There were no sounds beside the distant and steady rumble of Baby's engine.

“Dean.”, she eventually broke the silence.

He kept on staring into nothingness.

“This … it's not your fault.”, she said calmly, another glance into the rear-view-mirror waiting for any reaction of Dean.

_You keep saying that_ , he answered in his thoughts. Because who's else's fault was it then?

“Dean. Listen.”, she continued softly. “It wasn't you.”

Sam had said the same to him. - Quite some time before he started begging Dean to _stop_.

“It was the curse.”, she said that, but the both of them knew that this wasn't entirely true. The curse had unleashed, what had been buried for so long inside of him. If there hadn't been hell, maybe he wouldn't have done what he had done.

“I know what you're thinking, Dean Winchester.”, she continued. “But that's not true. The Dean I know wouldn't torture and kill people. He wouldn't hurt someone he loves. - So whatever you think right now: It's not true.”

Dean took a shaky inhale. He couldn't allow himself to even consider it.

“You're going to get cleaned up. When that's done, I'll drive you to the hospital.”, she declared, “Bobby'll be waitin' for us there.”

_SPN_

Of course Robert Singer was waiting for them at the hospital. So not to miss them somehow, he was standing outside the entrance to the ER pacing back and forth ever since the nurse had him told to stand back and that someone would come for him to fill him in as soon as possible.

_SPN_

Ellen had to practically drag Dean out of the backseat and into the motel-room she had rent before. There was nothing she could have done, nor said, to make the Winchester feel better in any way.

Dean Winchester didn't hear. Didn't see. Didn't feel.

_There was nothingness. Cold, dark, relentless nothingness._

When he first – back at the asylum, staring in horror, when paramedics worked to save his man's life – had felt cruel terror and despair, now there was nothing left. _Simply nothing._

He didn't think. His mind was wiped clean, a blank black board eating away everything that's ever been written onto it.

Ellen shoved Dean into the bathroom with a bundle of fresh clothes in her arms, dumping them into the sink.

“Sam won't ever forgive you, if you're givin' up on him now.”, she said softly, her gaze lingering for a long time on the hunter. “He's going to need you, boy. Wherever he knows it or not.” Ellen wasn't sure if she was getting through to him. She didn't know what to do. What to say.

They've all lost people they loved. They've all been there – on the brink towards insanity. _Though …_ torturing and murder someone you loved – even though you're not yourself – might as well was even worse.

She didn't even want to imagine, what Dean was going through right now … “You're goin' to be strong for the both of you, Dean Winchester.” With that, Ellen left him to it.

There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could say. All she could do, was to be there when Dean'd eventually need her.

Because they all did at some point. No hunter, not even a Winchester was immune to it.

_SPN_

Dean didn't know how long he was standing there, bowed over the sink. Not capable of looking at himself in the mirror. Not able to look himself in the eyes.

He was shaking like leaves in the wind.

Ellen's been right.

He couldn't run from this. He owed it Sam – at least. He had to fix this – somehow, anyhow. If it even was to be fixed. Someone would have to be there for him. And if Sam didn't want Dean to be there … he might as well had to accept it … but he'd try. And if it wasn't him, he'd find someone to help Sam deal with what had happened.

_IF he'd survive …_

_Oh god_ … he couldn't believe what he's done.

He couldn't believe what he felt while doing it …

This had to be a bad dream. He only needed to wake up, _get out of it …_

But he _knew_ , it hadn't been a dream. This was real. So damn fucking real – and he couldn't feel anything. Not even guilt.

Dean Winchester didn't know what he was feeling … There was nothing, and so much at once. And everything was about Sam.

Sam's pale face.

His motionless body.

Blue lips.

And blood. _So much blood …_

Dean was shaking harder, as his heart thumped mercilessly in his chest, on the verge of breaking through, of tearing apart.

He told himself to get his shit together over and over again. To get into the shower. Wash the blood off – SAM'S BLOOD, and fucking take it as a Winchester. To stand his man as he was supposed to …

So he moved mechanically. Getting undressed and under the shower. He turned the temperature up, until it was burning hot and went to stand under the spray of water.

Wherever to feel something – anything – or to punish himself for what had happened he wasn't sure. He only knew he needed to feel something.

He needed to _make_ himself feel.

If it wasn't for the torture he's put Sam through … It had to be for the things he'd said to the kid. For _everything_ he had said. Sam had told him some things from his past at some point during their time together … nice things, and not so nice things ...and Dean had used this. He's used it to tear down Sam's wall of self-preservation. He had used it to be the wreckingball crushing whatever he's been protecting himself from.

And then … t _hen he broke him_. Like a thin branch in the wind.

He had.

He's seen it in Sam's eyes.

_It's okay .._.Dean closed his eyes, stealing himself, _not like this_ , He swallowed as a sob dared to roll up his throat, forcing it back down. _Close your eyes Sammy_.

In. Every. Damn. Fucking. Way.

He, he who was supposed to be his shelter. Meant to protect him. Take care of him. Watch out for him ..

Dean felt – actually felt – that he had betrayed Sam in the worst way ever. Sam had trusted him – all along. And he had taken that trust, and used it. Twisted it.

He'd never forgive himself.

He'd never forgive himself for not noticing that something was wrong with him – at least he should've known after he's killed the girl at the motel. He should've known as soon as he felt weird thoughts claiming to be his own.

He had way more experience than Sam. So he was SUPPOSED to know when something didn't add up. Curse or spell or whatever other godforsaken shit was going down. - He knew. And he must've stopped it. No matter what. No matter how.

Sam had trusted him.

He's trusted him to not hurt him.

He's trusted him that night when they were hunting the werewolf, when he had practically forced himself onto Sam.

Dean could remember everything that had happened. Crystal clear. All the way. Every detail.

And if that wasn't reason enough to put a bullet into his brain, he didn't know what was.

Pictures of Sam flashed up before his inner eyes.

Sam's body seizing, when the paramedics shocked him. Yelling commandos. Plunging needles into his lifeless form.

The heavy air, filled with blood and antiseptics and the ongoing sound of a flat-line.

Dean Winchester could hear it. The threatening sound of death as Sam's heart stubbornly refused to beat.

As if he wasn't even fighting …

As if he refused to come back among the living …

As if he's given up for good …

_SPN_

Dean wore the fresh clothes Ellen had prepared for him when he emerged from the bathroom, walking in on her when she was on the phone. Her back turned towards him.

“I'll call you later.”, she said and slapped her phone shut.

“Bobby?”, Dean asked, as she turned around to face the Winchester. Her expression and body-language told him, that there were no good news.

She sighed.

Dean's eyes started to sting again, tears already gathering in them as he waited for her to talk. To tell him something. Anything. To know if he was supposed to get his damn gun right now and end this.

Ellen held the phone tight. Her look cast down.

“Sam?”, he asked, his voice shaky and rough. Dean felt his knees go weak, daring to give out on him.

“Sam's alive.”, She stated calmly.

A flash of hope crossed Dean's features, his eyes lightened up for a moment, before they went dark again, as he realized that wasn't everything.

“So … then let's roll.” Something told him that they wouldn't be going anywhere. At least not right away.

“No. - They won't let anyone to him. - Sam's on the ICU. He's actually on life support for the next 24 hours or so.” She paused. “He's out of surgery … but … he's had an internal bleeding. His liver got ruptured somehow … they fixed it … _but_ … ”

Dean had to reach for the bathroom's door-handle to support himself. He took a shaky breath, staring at Ellen, trying to focus as his vision started to swim and blur.

He didn't want to hear it. Not now. Not yet. He just couldn't.

“ … No one knows how long he's been without oxygen exactly … so ...”, she trailed off, as she made an attempt to walk up to Dean.

Maybe to hug him. Maybe to comfort him. It didn't matter in the end. Because Dean didn't want to be comforted or hugged or whatever. He didn't deserve it. Not him.

It was Sam who had died. Actually died. Who had suffered from his hands, who had told him that _it was okay._ Even that it wasn't. That it was OKAY, when nothing was okay at all about this fucked up situation.

Dean rose his hand, stopping her. “Don't.” He hiccuped. “Just … don't.”

Ellen eyed him for a very long moment, obviously debating with herself before she spoke again. “Dean. - It's not your fault. We know that. - Sam's going to know that too.” At least she tried, wherever she knew her words wouldn't work on him. Not this time.

Because this? This was bad. It was worse than bad.

“Ellen. _Please_.”, he pleaded, as tear started to fall from his eyes again. “You know that's not true.”

She humed, then stashed her phone in her jacket's pocket. “Bobby's comin' in about an hour. - He's going to talk to the doc in charge and … He actually ordered me to have an eye on you.” She cleared her throat. “But … I think you're a grown man and you won't do anything stupid. Besides … I'm starvin' and a little bit of hunter's helper won't hurt anyone of us right now … so … you better stay put until I'm back.”

She gave him a warning look, asking if he had understood. “Are we clear?”

Dean only nodded and watched Ellen leave after another moment of communicating without actually speaking.

_SPN_

When Ellen returned with paper-bags in her arms, Dean was gone.

Of course, the Winchester wouldn't play by anyone other's rules, except for his own. Though, he left a note, letting her know that he wouldn't do anything stupid and that he needed fresh air and was going for a walk. And that he needed to be _alone_.

Ellen understood, so she didn't go after him and she dearly hoped, that she wouldn't regret it in any way.

_SPN_


	9. CHAPTER 9 ~ Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course Sam's going to survive this ... but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this sequel has to come to an end ...

**CHAPTER 9 ~ Falling**

On the second day – finally – they allowed Sam to have visitors. Though, only one at a time and for no longer than thirty minutes.

Besides that, Dean had to get into a rather uncomfortable gown and face-mask, so to prevent Sam from being infected unnecessarily.

For once, Dean didn't protest. He did what he was told.

The ICU was a calm place. The only things that were heard, were machines, keeping people alive. It was _so calm_ … Dean wasn't sure if he was even supposed to talk to Sam – besides … he didn't even know what he could even to say. Because “I'm so damn fucking sorry”, couldn't possibly cut it. It wouldn't make anything better. It wouldn't mean anything to Sam, since it had been him bringing him here in the first place …

So, all Dean did was standing there … beside the bed … looking like a wrecked green tent wearing a ridiculous looking cap.

He heard the steady sounds of the machines.

He watched the machines – still supporting Sam to carry on with his life, to help him heal, to keep him alive.

From what Dean could tell, Sam's vitals didn't look that bad.

He would look at everything in the room … but not _Sam_.

He couldn't see him like this. Couldn't stand the fact that this had been him, responsible for his condition.

Not with that fat tube coming from his mouth, not all those I.V.s and the central venous line. He couldn't watch the steady rise and fall of the kid's chest, since it seemed everything but natural.

They've said something about keeping him another day on the ICU, and that they'd try and extubate him tomorrow, and that he'd eventually wake up anytime soon after the sedatives would wear off… Or he even wouldn't. And that was the other issue, lingering over Sam like a guillotine's blade on a loose threat … No one could tell IF he would wake up.

But when he did … What was Dean supposed to do then? How was he supposed to face Sam after all this? Was he even allowed to be here at all?

Dean felt filthy.

It felt so wrong to him. All of this.

He had no damn right to even think about Sam, to lay hands on him ever again … even if Sam would let him.

So Dean left, when the nurse returned to tell him that it was about time to leave and that he could return by tomorrow afternoon, and that if he was lucky, Sam'd be awake and maybe talking by then.

The hunter wasn't sure if someone was allowed to call him _lucky_ – after all the nurse didn't know what he knew.

_SPN_

Ellen sat at the table of a nearly empty dinner.

Across from her Bobby was spicing up his morning-coffee with whiskey from his flask.

She stared into her mug, blonde hair slipping over her shoulder and brushing her lower arm.

“What's the plan?”, she asked and looked up, eyeing Robert Singer intently, reading him.

“Well. Gettin' the boys back to my house. Letting them heal ...”, he answered thoughtfully. Then his lips twitched and his forehead furrowed. “They're goin' to be okay.”

“Your plan is to put the vic into the same house – or even room – with the offender?” Ellen's eyebrows rose in that way, which told him, that she didn't think that was a good idea at all. “Maybe Sam won't take it that well ...”

“He'll cope. - Dean'll cope too.” He dearly seemed to hope everything would turn out just fine as soon as they'd be back at the Salvage. Maybe a part of the old man was wishing for it, despite the other part which told him, that this probably wouldn't work at all …

“I know what you're tryin'. But forcing them together _probably_ won't work.”, she added.

“We gotta try, don't we?” Bobby tried to smile, but failed badly.

Ellen nodded. Of course they _had to_ try. She cleared her throat. “Rufus called. He's got a lead on the witch.”

Bobby pursed his lips as they shared looks.

“I'll catch up with him at the Roadhouse ...” She seemed troubled about that. “You think you're gonna be okay on your own with the both of them?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Do I look like I wouldn't?”

Ellen Harvelle smiled softly at her old friend and shook her head. _No_. “I'll call you once Rufus filled me in.”

“Yeah, you do that. - Just … you know … You guys don't go after her until we know who she is.” Not really spoken as an order, but like something close to it.

_SPN_

They had extubated Sam.

He was breathing on his own and he had woken up once before Dean came to visit. When the older hunter entered, Sam was sleeping again.

The kid looked way better than the day before. At least it seemed so.

Dean still wouldn't touch him. He actually kept an – what seemed – acceptable distance between the both of them, afraid, that if Sam would wake up and he'd be the first thing to see, would panic, or freak out, or yell at him, or whatever.

Then again … Sam would probably tell him to go away and never come back. That he should leave him alone. That he had no right to be there …

So he just stood there … _staring_ at Sam. Memorizing each and every soft line on his face.

He couldn't bring himself to say something either. To try and coax him out of his sleep and make sure that Sam was still Sam. No matter how bad he wanted to see those hazel-colored rings shine back at him.

He was so wound up with self-pity and despair about this whole situation, that he didn't notice Sam's eyes were on halfmast, his face turned towards him.

The kid's lips moved, as hoarse, barely audible, syllables fell from his lips.

“Sammy?” Dean sounded wrecked, his eyes huge as he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

He approached the bed and bowed down slightly, still trying to not come too close to the other man. “Say that again.”, he whispered, as he could only hear a murmur.

Warm breaths of air ghosted along Dean's jaw, when Sam tried again.

“ _Please_.”, he breathed, and then drew in a long shuddering breath. “Please. Don' hurt me anymore.”, was what he was trying to tell him.

Dean's eyes teared up again. His heart felt like getting ripped out and torn apart. His throat closed up on him, as he understood the plea.

Sam didn't seem to be mad at him. He wasn't angry. He didn't tell him to go away and fuck himself. His man was asking him to not hurt him.

Dean Winchester could've worked with Sam being mad, with being angry, with not wanting him to be around, but this? This was even _worse_. So much worse, it tore and twisted Dean's guts apart right then, making him feel nauseous.

He knew that the kid was on drugs and that he might wasn't in his right state of mind at the moment, but it hurt. So bad.

“Sam.”, he croaked out and then his throat closed up on him, unable to form another single word for a very long time.

He pulled back, so that he could look Sam in the eyes. “I didn't mean to.”, he whispered, searching his face.

Sam looked so young and vulnerable right then. “You … you gotta believe me ...” Dean whispered, but broke off when _his man's_ eyes slid closed, and a single tear traveled down his cheek.

_SPN_

Dean wouldn't visit Sam again the upcoming two days. Not even when they finally moved him to another ward, since he wouldn't need that much medical attention anymore.

Though, Sam sleeping most of his time being, Bobby'd go there every day. There were only short amounts of awareness, and even when he was conscious, Sam didn't really seem to notice his surroundings, nor did he mind that Bobby was around.

He'd have his eyes half-open and he would whisper words every now and then. Silent pleas and barely audible concessions, Bobby would only understand when he was close enough and when it was quiet.

It broke the old man's heart, because he knew who Sam was talking to. Whom he was pleading and whom he was telling that he knew that it wasn't Dean and that it was okay and that he wouldn't be mad at him at all.

Not just, that it tore at Bobby's heart. Also, that – if one of the nurses or even doctors would figure out what Sam was talking about exactly, and if they'd put together the pieces – Dean might as well would get into even bigger trouble as he already was.

Bobby talked the the doc on duty, asked him all the things he wanted to know – needed to know – and the doctor reassured him, that Sam was still heavily drugged, and that whatever he was saying, he might wasn't even aware of.

Other than that, the doc had told him – after checking Sam's medical records – that they would soon start to wear him off the drugs he was getting so far and that he should be capable of being aware of his surroundings properly very soon.

Which also meant, that the authorities would make an appearance too anytime now.

_SPN_

Bobby sat in the motel-room on his bed, waiting for Dean to come out of the bathroom. When he did, Dean was freshly showered and wore other clothes, but he still looked like chewed on and spit out multiple times.

“Sam recognized me.”; Bobby stated, not exactly sure how he was supposed to start this conversation. “He even talked a little … though … he's still pretty much out of it.” Bobby watched every move Dean did, reading his body's language while he spoke. “Two officer's stopped by, asking him questions. - He told them, that he can't remember.” He paused. “He asked where you are.”

Dean didn't look at his old friend. On his way to the desk, he took the bottle with beer from the nightstand and drank from it.

“And? What did you tell him?”, Dean asked, giving the old man a side-glance.

“That you're around, you Idiot.” Bobby answered angrily. “Stop drowning yourself in self-pity, you moron.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.”, Dean murmured, his look cast to the floor.

“Well. - You should be sober when you're visiting Sam. - So, stop drinkin' and get movin'.” Bobby rose from the bed, his old joints popping as he straightened up.

“I won't. - _Actually_ … I thought about leaving though ...” Dean looked back over his shoulder, a guilty expression on his features.

Bobby rose both eyebrows. “You ain't goin' anywhere, boy. - That man is waitin' for you. He's askin' for you. - If you're runnin' away now, you'll loose him.”, he exclaimed furiously. He had shown enough patience for a lifetime with the Winchester. No way he was going to watch him go down like this. Neither of the both of them.

“Maybe he's better off without me.”, Dean's voice rose. “I've done this to him. - You think it's going to be the way it was before? You really think this is going to work?” He huffed out a breath in disbelieve.

“No it won't be like that.” Bobby was annoyed. Sometimes Winchesters were just idiots. Dean and his father were so much alike at some point it was creepy. “The both of you will get over it.”

_SPN_

Dean did drive to the hospital.

The man did sit in his car, staring at the building, as if the most ugliest monster was waiting there for him.

He did go inside, his insides turning and twisting all the way and the closer he came to where Sam had his room, the worse it became.

He did dare to enter the ward Sam had been moved to right away.

And when he did, Dean paced the corridor forth and back, fighting himself as he felt the pressing need to turn on his heels and leave this forsaken place.

He did eventually take on the task, of walking into the room Sam was occupying, after telling himself that he needed to get his shit together and stand his man.

The kid's body went rigid as soon as Dean's presence became palpable, dragging along this awesomeness sometimes was a curse.

A pair of weary hazel-eyes followed his every move, watching him cautiously. Sam seemed to hold his breath for a very long time until he dared to even do as much as exhale in Dean's presence.

The kid seemed to fight with himself to not panic, to not freak out.

What Dean saw in his eyes was a mixture of fear, hurt and a hint of love and trust. The latter was mere a glimpse for a split second though …

So at least not everything seemed to be lost. Not everything had went to hell – eventually.

“Hey Sammy.”, Dean said, packing away his own fear, fighting back the agony of having to face what had happened by his hands.

He added an insecure smile.

As he rounded the bed and aimed for the chair beside it, the kid shifted in his position, his eyes still glued to Dean, holding his gaze.

Sam's lips twitched, he tilted his head to the side. “Hey.” With his looks asking if Dean was Dean again.

Of course Bobby had filled him in in what had happened at the asylum, and that Dean was him again ever since, for sure. Bobby had talked a lot. More than he ever had so far. And what Sam made curious about the old man was, that he had laid off his gruff demanor – at least when he's been with him.

Sam wasn't sure why he felt the way he felt recently. He couldn't figure himself out. Why his body reacted to Dean the way it did and why he felt all insecure all of a sudden as soon as he had spotted _his man_ entering.

Sam had thought he'd be happy to see him, to know that he was still there and with him. That Dean wouldn't drop him.

It felt weird, that now that they were in the same room, he couldn't bring himself to say the things he wanted to tell Dean. He's been thinking about how it would be, how it would feel. And it was way different from what he had thought.

“How ...” Dean's voice broke as he sat down, inching closer to the bed.

Sam pulled back unconsciously, when the hunter came closer.

Dean broke eye-contact with him for a second, before he regained his composure and leaned back, so to give Sam more space.

“How are you?”, he finished the question he was attempting to ask earlier.

“Good ...” Sam tugged his arms under the covers as if to protect himself _somehow_. As if to hide away.

He threw a wary glance at the room's door and his surroundings. “I think I'm good ...”

Dean nodded to himself and bit his lower lip, digging around in his mind to find the words he wanted to get out so desperately, but there were none to be found.

Sam cleared his throat gingerly. “When are you guys gonna bust me out of here?” The kid's eyes were huge, filled with a hint of hope, as if it would change simply everything as soon as he'd leave the hospital.

“A couple more days, Sammy. - You … We should make sure you're okay to go.”, Dean replied thoughtfully. A part of him wanted to buy himself some more time to figure this out. To come up with a plan on how to deal with this.

Sam didn't protest – like he most likely would have done before. He sucked in his lower lip and started to chew on it.

Something Dean had never before noticed Sam doing before.

“I ...” he took a deep breath. “I'm not mad, Dean.”, he finally said.

Dean's face darkened. He should be mad. Angry. Furious even. Sam was supposed to want to punch him in the face, to kick his ass.

“I'm sorry.”, Sam added after an endless amount of silence between the both of them.

Dean shook his head, closed his eyes, his lips turned downwards slightly. When he opened them again, Sam was staring at the covers, looking utterly sad.

“Sam.” he took a breath to steady his voice, pushing back the need to break down just there and roll up in a fetal position and fucking _cry._ “There's nothing you have to be sorry for. - It's me who needs to apologize ..:” _and so much more than that._

Sam stole another look from the door. “ _It's okay._ ”, he said, carried away on a breath. It sounded distant and hollow. “ _It's okay, Dean_.”

Because – some day – it might be okay again …

_SPN_

… _to be continued?_

**A/N:** Next to come: Part 3 ~ Fallout ... IF ... well ... the muse comes back to me anyway ... at the moment she's hiding.

Another thing is: I've written it already, and now it's all gone. My computer crashed last week, and I'm soooo done. Everything's gone ... Idk how long it will take to rewrite "fallout" ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not done yet ... I AM not done yet ... So, I'll solve some shit in the next sequel "Fallout".  
> Stay tuned ;) I'm still working it out though, so ... let's see where we go from here ...

**Author's Note:**

> What about you guys leave me some bacon?  
> I'd appreciate every kind of your sweet suport over here ... I need it :)


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